


206.

by writergirl8



Series: Stydia-fanfiction prompts [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, prompted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are 206 bones in Lydia Martin’s body and Stiles Stilinski is going to spend his life protecting every single one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	206.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt I got from Stydia-fanfiction last summer. I thought I'd just throw it up on my AO3 page for anybody who hadn't read it. 
> 
> Prompt: AU where Stiles is a werewolf and he is going through his first full moon and Lydia is there to help him. It’s going rough until Lydia tells him she loves him, he calms down and happy stydia ending

Stiles understands what they were all talking about. Bones. He doesn’t know why he didn’t pay attention to them before– the way they’re so soft and delicate and easy to splinter and crack and crumble. There are 206 bones in an adult human being, and Stiles wants to feel all of Lydia’s. He imagines the delicate ivory bones crunching underneath his fingertips, slowly disassembling until he has ruined every piece of her.   
  
And then, with another blink, he remembers who he is. He is Stiles Stilinski, and he does not hurt Lydia Martin.   
  
He does, however, want to hurt Scott right now. For biting him. For saving his life. And for making him a fucking beta, when Stiles has never had to answer to anyone before, despite the fact that he always chose to stand next to Scott. Stiles hates this, because he is never out of control, never doesn’t have a choice, but it is taking his all to look at the worried look on Lydia’s face and not want to feel her disintegrating between his fingers.   
  
“Get away,” he commands for the hundredth time.   
  
“No,” she replies, just as she has the last ninety-nine times he demanded that she leave him alone.   
  
“Lydia, I might kill you.”   
  
“You’re chained up,” she says flippantly, licking her index finger before turning the page of the magazine she is reading. “And you won’t kill me.”  
  
“Why not?” he asks, because there’s a secretive smile on her face and Stiles is pretty sure Lydia might have an actual answer; something he might have missed.   
  
“I wouldn’t let you,” she remarks, picking up the red pen that she’d pulled off of Stiles’ desk and circling an item. “Now settle in, wolf-boy. You’re going to have a long night.”  
  
He definitely had imagined her saying those words to him countless times, but in very different scenarios. Fuck Scott for doing this to him. Disheartened, Stiles sags against the wall, his heartbeat calming down.   
  
“So,” he says. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Waiting for you to go berserk so I can see how weird you look when you’re phased,” she responds, eyes still on the magazine. “Didn’t we already go over this?”  
  
“No,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “I mean with the fucking magazine. You’re sitting at my desk reading a magazine instead of cowering in fear from the monster. You might as well entertain him.”  
  
“Trying to find prom inspiration,” Lydia says. “And don’t think so highly of yourself. You’re not a monster. You’re a sarcastic eighteen-year-old with no ass and a predisposition for falling into stupid situations.”  
  
“You’re thinking about prom?”  
  
“The alternative is thinking about the fact that I’m stuck in a bedroom with a sarcastic eighteen-year-old with no ass and a–”  
  
“Okay, yeah, I get it.”  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
He feels the change in his body even before he sees the moon. But when he looks outside, it is higher in the sky, bright and round and, for the first time, impossibly daunting. He doesn’t want the feralness that begins to claim him even as he thinks about resisting it; doesn’t want the responsibility that comes from controlling himself.   
  
“Lydia, leave.” His voice comes out in the growl that he’s heard Scott use so many times, but Scott had never told him how it ripped and clawed at his throat, never told him that it could be felt somewhere in his stomach.   
  
She looks unnerved for a second, and then her mouth sets into a determined line as she drops the magazine to the floor and drops down from her chair, resting on her knees in front of him, but not close enough for him to reach her.   
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says fiercely. “I’m staying with you.”   
  
He can feel his heart pounding in his throat; feel the way his skin and stretching and shrinking as he tries to ignore the agony that is splitting his form apart.   
  
“Lydia,” he pants desperately. “Please.”  
  
The scary thing is that he doesn’t know if he’s begging for her to leave or pleading with her to stay with him. The weak part of him could be winning out. The weak part of him also seems to conquer. The weak part of Stiles is the part that has never been able to let Lydia go.   
  
Lydia watches him watching her, and when she suddenly lifts a hand to her mouth, he doesn’t know what’s happening until his eyes are searing in pain and everything feels like it’s burning. Stiles crumples, and he hears Lydia’s breath catch so loudly that it makes him cover his ears with his hands, yelling in pain. The only thing to do, he thinks, is to curl up in pain and try to keep his limbs close to his body. The chains cut into his wrists as he tugs his hands close to his ears, but Stiles focuses on pulling them closer, wanting to block away the pain.   
  
Scott would be out saving somebody else just when Stiles needs him.   
  
“Stiles, focus on my voice,” Lydia implores. “Please. Just focus on the sound of my voice.”  
  
“God, I want to die. Just fucking kill me, Lyds, I wanna die.”   
  
“No you don’t,” she says firmly, and then he can feel her fingers carding through his hair, stroking it tenderly away from his eyes.  
  
“Get back!” he roars, so loudly that his father would certainly come in here and yell, were he home and not off backing up Scott somewhere in town.   
  
“I’m not going to move,” Lydia yells back, finally losing her cool. “Stiles. You’re not going to hurt me. You’re never going to hurt me.”  
  
“Why the hell would you possibly think that?” he asks desperately. And, god, it’s like she’s screaming all the time. Her voice is seeping into his veins, magnified like he’d just stuck headphones into his ears and pressed the play button without realizing how high the volume was.   
  
“Because you used to love me, and once you love someone like that, it’s always a part of you somehow.” He manages to pull his eyelids open with the sheer force of will, and when he looks up at Lydia, she’s got her eyes on the carpet, looking away from him. “Right?”  
  
Stiles’ heart hammers in his ears, staring at Lydia.   
  
“How would you even-?” He peters off. He doesn’t want to hear about Jackson.   
  
“Because I’ve spent the past year fighting with myself to not be in love with you anymore.”   
  
His heartbeat isn’t speeding up. It’s slowing down. And she’s chewing on her lip and looking at him and the liquid green of her eyes serves as some sort of medication, steadying him. He can hear her heart beating, and he times his breaths with it until they make a rhythm together.   
  
“You love me?”  
  
She lets her eyes drift upwards; lets them clamp onto his.   
  
“There you are,” she says. “They aren’t gold anymore.”  
  
He ignores this, because it is not the most important thing right now.  
  
“Lydia,” Stiles says impatiently, “I spent the last year trying not to be in love with you, too.”  
  
“Well,” she replies, “were you successful?” He shakes his head. “I see.”  
  
“You’re smiling.”  
  
“So are you. You have fangs.”   
  
“Oh, shit.”   
  
She laughs. Starts to lean in.   
  
“Woah. No!” Stiles says. “Jesus, Lydia, the last time you kissed me I was having a panic attack, and you wait for my first cycle to kiss me again? No, don’t make that joke. Stop laughing.”  
  
“Sorry,” she lies, straightening her expression.  
  
“Look, all I’m saying is… don’t kiss me when I have fangs.”  
  
“Fine,” she says, smirking. “But when this is over-”  
  
“I invite you to do literally whatever you want with my lips,” he promises, even though he’s not sure if this will ever be fully over.   
  
Lydia, despite that small detail, settles into a more comfortable position on the floor, dragging Stiles’ afghan from his bed and wrapping it around herself.   
  
“I’m going to stay right here with you, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” says Stiles, even though the pain is starting to come back as the intensity of their human moment ebbs away.   
  
“I’m going to wait for you.”  
  
Something peaceful and sleepy settles in Stiles’ stomach.   
  
“Can we play the Celebrity game?”  
  
She rolls her eyes, propping her head up on the palm of her hand.   
  
“You know I’m going to beat you. There’s only a finite number of actors in Doctor Who and Star Wars.”  
  
“True. But it’s distracting.”  
  
His eyes start to burn again. He tries not to cringe. She wouldn’t want to see him cringe.   
  
“Fine,” Lydia sighs. “You start.”  
  
“Hayden Christensen.”   
  
“Of freaking course.”  
  
“Go, Lydia!”   
  
He starts to smile as she begins thinking of celebrities with names that start with “C”, and he grins excitedly even though he knows that he’s going to lose.   
  
But he’s not really going to lose. He’s not going to lose anything. Because there are 206 bones in Lydia Martin’s body and he’s going to spend his life protecting every single one of them.


End file.
